Schism
by JellyBeanQuill
Summary: In build up to the First Wizarding War, around the time that the "Marauders" were at Hogwarts - fractures are beginning to show - not only in the outside world, but in smaller forms within Hogwarts. JellyBeanOmelette narrates the chapters from Verity's perspective, HeatherQuill the chapters from Kora's.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Kora Maver**

I sank down into one of the chairs, but the sense of homeliness and relaxation that normally accompanied the movement was gone. Although you could put that down to the over-crowded state of the common room, and more specifically, the arrival of wide eyed, confused first years – those who knew me better would realize that it had to do with the entrance of Lily Evans, flanked by her giggling girlfriends, Piraveena and Fransisca.

"I mean – it was an honour to be picked for Deputy Head Girl, of course! But, with James Potter?" she was simpering, her long red hair flicking about. "It couldn't be a worse match. By this time, even her entourage was losing interest – it had become clear that Lily was gaining a crush. However, she was far too proud to let old prejudices fall, and it was clear that her intentions would be to hold this one up for the year, until she could find a valid "reason" to change her mind. Typical Lily behaviour.

I flicked a piece of hair between her fingers, and looked into the fire, the light too precarious to see by, hence the fact that the lamps were still lit. The other Seventh year girls began strutting around the place, talking to first years in patronizing "meant-to-be-welcoming" tones. I scowled after them.

The common room appeared light hearted and fresh, although the events at the feast had tainted it with, if not a scared then a mildly confused and intrigued one.

"The houses four we must unite

Or watch them crash and burn

Our enemies are outside not in

This as houses we must learn."

The Sorting Hat's song had veered wildly off its usual ramblings…to tell us that we would have to unite. I had no issues with uniting as houses, but it was within my house that I didn't gel. The girls tended to be fluttery and giggly, with the occasional exception of Fransisca "Sisca" Fletcher. The boys, "Marauder's" as they now referred to themselves, were more interesting, and I had long wanted to join them, but they were incredibly anti letting a girl in.

Aforesaid "Marauder's" traipsed in, standing on the edge of the portrait hole for far longer than necessary, before jumping and making what must have originally been planned as a "Grand Entrance". I rolled my eyes, as did Lily; although her apparent indignation was marred by the fact that she immediately turned and disappeared in a flurry of laughter…James saw this, and raised his eyebrows – but still seemed mildly gratified.

Sirius, Pettigrew, James and Remus. All carried a smirk on their face, as they sauntered into the room. They expected something to happen, evidently by their expressions, perhaps a hushed silence or an appreciative series of nods, but the common room forte continued in much the same fashion as before.

There were four seats by the fire I was at, one of which I was currently in. The Marauding idiots waltzed around the circlet, looking for a place to stay by, of which by now – after all the time they had spent engineering their dramatic entrance – there were none left. Typically, they refused to accept this.

"Hey midget?" my head snapped up, to see James leaning over the chair. "Could you move?"

I grimaced, and cocked my head to one side, pretending to consider. "No."

"Uh, yes. I think you will." He wasn't taken aback, merely annoyed. He knew better than anyone, that I could be very stubborn and certainly not the type to bow down to the Marauding fools.

My voice grew thick with sarcasm. "Oh yes, and while I'm at it, I'll join the fan club of the Marauders and do whatever the hell they say…No."

James sighed overly loudly and dramatically. "Shame." Peter, Remus and Sirius flopped into the remaining seats.

"Leave it, James. Look!" Sirius gestured to where Andrew Mclaggen had got up and left the adjacent seat free.

James' eyes barely flickered. "No." And with one swift motion, he jolted the seat forward; involuntarily I was almost instantaneously sprawled on the floor.

I looked up at him, glaring as he sat down; springing to my feet. I barely reached James's shoulder, when he was standing, and I could barely "tower over him" as he sat.

"God, short stuff. How much did you grow over the summer? Exactly…er…none?"

I curled my lips. "I know – I hate being short…you know why? Whenever I have to look at you, I can see right up your nose." I kicked him in the shin, although I would have preferred to have reached a more sensitive area, as I walked off.

The Marauders were all dicks, and I had just firmly pitted myself against them as an enemy. Joy, was I looking forward to what awaited me this term…

**Chapter 1: Verity Blishwick**

"Don't look; it's worthless - don't even try; If you can perceive us, you've reason to cry." The cool voice of our Eagle Knocker was unmistakable, despite being muffled by the closed door.

"That'd be Thestrals," I turned at the sound of Clodagh's uppy voice. She (hereafter to be referred to as 'General of the Bitch Brigade', undeterred by the fact that the aforementioned 'Bitch Brigade' was nothing but a figment of her imagination, since nobody really liked her) flounced into the common room and perched herself on the arm on Charlotte's chair, earning a reproachful glare, and looked round expectantly at us. 'Sorry, I'm late; I had some _important_ business to attend to.'

Lysandra 'Loner' Kemery shot me her 'I-told-you-it-wouldn't-take-her-five-minutes-you-so-owe-me-those-billywig-stings' smirk over the rim of her book and I replied with my 'She-hasn't-said-it-so-you-haven't-won-yet' eye roll.

Lysandra, withholding a snigger, ducked her head towards Charlotte, who wore a look somewhat between bemusement at mine and Lysandra's noiseless exchange and a withering stare directed at the newly-made Head Girl.

Clodagh, obviously disconcerted by Charlotte's gaze, slid off her perch and thrust her chest out at the gaggle of first years accommodating her usual spot, so the shined badge pinned to her robes flashed under the lamp light. It took one look from her to send the first years running, their quivering tails between their legs.

House loyalty was scarce in Ravenclaw house—when one friend would stab another in the back for an extra mark over them, rivalry was often mistaken for intimacy. Alliances would be formed, never friendships. No exception was made for newcomers; you got smart or you got out.

Clodagh shot a smug smile of victory up the stairs after them before sitting down and turning back to us; her nonchalant demeanour failed to cover a slight, crazed grin. "I was in Professor _Dumbledore's _office."

"Really?" said Charlotte in faux interest, dully flicking a page of her book.

"Mmm… I've been made Head Girl, did you know?"

"Absolutely _fascinating_."

Clodagh carried on, oblivious to the sarcasm that was strewn across our perpetually bored faces, "Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about my duties, and of course the head boy had to introduced to me—"

"Head boy?" That was a question—who was Head Boy? Not Russell obviously; he made a good prefect (as he was the only Ravenclaw boy to have his head out of a book long enough in order to keep the third years in check), but he could barely organise his homework schedule, let alone the entire school.

Clodagh looked round at me, surprised by my sudden interest. "Uh, some Gryffindor called Ronnie Lupus or something… but get this; I get to organise Hogsm—"

"Remus Lupin?" I pressed.

"Yes, Remus." She sat up straighter and more_ decorously_, drumming her fingers impatiently against her leg. "But really, it is quite riveting," she huffed; Clodagh was often told by professors that she was a brilliant student, and didn't understand why her peers never felt the same way.

"I'm sure it _quite_ is." Said Lysandra, slamming her book shut and placing it on the coffee table (not that it ever bore coffee anyway; it tended to frequent tea.) "If you would excuse me, I am going up to bed." She stood and strode to the spiralling staircase. Unlike Clodagh, who walked with a rigid back and a chin thrust upwards, Lysandra carried herself with a more natural lope; her cloak following her with a graceful swish.

"Er… Same." Leaving my own book on the table, I hurried after her, not wanting to be left with Clodagh 'Kiss-Arse' Kelsh, her memoirs of patrol schedules and Charlotte Golding. While Charlotte had no ill-feelings for me, she certainly didn't hold me in a favourable light.

I rose in tight, dizzying circles; I had long since left my horrific motion sickness in first year, having outgrown it within the first month.

The dorm rooms were significantly less airy than the common room. The ceiling was lower and without the sweeping arches, instead riddled with awkward crevices and crannies, in which one might curl of with a beanbag and a book. The walls were lined with an array of mismatched bookcases and desks, already littered with scrolls and quills. It wasn't even the second day, yet work had already begun. The beds were pushed up against the far wall, out of the way, each with a trunk sat uniformly at the foot.

Lysandra lay in her pink pyjamas, sprawled on her covers, partially obscured by the blue trim hangings. I wandered over to my own trunk; it was unlike the rest of my roommates'. Instead of the regular blue stripes rimming the corners mine had vivid green. My parents had hastily and prematurely painted them there, making the rash assumption I would be in Slytherin, such as the rest of my pureblood-manic family. Lysandra had come up with the idea of adding flowers—she had added a darker rendering to the lines so they became tendrils, snaking their way round the lid and small blue flowers that bloomed out of the stalk.

"Verity."

I turned to look at Lysandra, snapping out of my reminiscent ramblings. "Yeah?"

"Can you get them bottled rather than boxed?" She wrinkled her nose. "I always find that the cardboard dries out the Billywig Stings."

**Disclaimer: We don't own HP, JK does…yadayadayada**


	2. Chapter 2

[Chapter 2] Kora Maver

As I walked into the Great Hall for breakfast – which had been done as only a Hogwarts' breakfast could be done; lashings of ketchup coating numerous styles of sausage, piles of warm buttery toast, eggs – not just chicken, but duck and quail; even funny little orange ones that my mother liked to break up and smear into her crackers, vast quantities of drinks – the tea and other hot beverages never in concern of cooling – there was a distinct bristle to the air.

I scarcely noticed. The Marauders were laughing at the far end of the Gryffindor table, Remus flicking bits of bacon into Peter's map. I marched up to them, wincing as my bare feet hit the icy floor; my toes were just beginning to turn blue. My wand found James' neck.

"Where have you put my shoes? And my jumper? And my hairbrush?" Lily turned and looked, and snickered. It must have looked a sight – barefoot, in my school shirt and skirt with wet hair streaming down my back, completely untamed. James and Peter began to smirk. "It's not funny."

"Oh come on!" chortled Peter. "You're a _girl!_ You have to have more than one pair of shoes…"

I raised my eyebrows. "And say that I didn't. Does that make me 'not a girl'? I want them back. It's bloody freezing!"

"Language, Miss Maver." I turned around to see the forbidding figure of Professor Mcgonagall, who glared at us all. "And may I ask why you have chosen to come to breakfast in such a state?"

"Never mind." I could be a lot of things, but a snitch wasn't one of them.

"Fine, Maver. Detention." Peter began to smile, James also. Sirius looked a little bit uneasy, but I was past caring. "And 20 points from Gryffindor."

The Marauders were complete and utter arseholes. To think that I had spent two years traipsing around after them, trying to become their new recruit! Of course, when separated, Sirius and Remus could be fairly pleasant, although Remus being Head Boy was a complete joke. Peter and James generally weren't as nice – Peter was occasionally a sarcastic type, but who could rein his pranks in past pure cruelty – a trait which James didn't possess. There had been one or two occasions, however, in which Peter had been really quite benevolent. I wondered what caused his changes in personality.

I sat down, taking the comb that Sisca passed under the table with a grateful nod. After breakfast I would dig out a pair of thick socks, and attempt to stick it out. She smiled. "Back for another year at Hogwarts, huh?" I nodded, looking over the tables. "You can really tell that you are back when you've just got 20 points docked from your house."

That snooty miss who no one could ever remember about on the Ravenclaw table, with the weird Kemery girl who was combing through a magazine, pointing out a particular potions ingredient to her friend…on the Slytherin table Death Eater recruits Avery and Mulciber – and that weird friend of Lily's who didn't wash his hair. Severus "Slimy" Snape. Rumour had it, that Lily had once touched it, and he had never washed it again – everyone knew that he had a thing for her. This was utter puffskein slobber. He had had hair in his grease since first year. On the Hufflepuff table was a general gaggle of high spirited people. They were the only ones who didn't seem to be tetchy in the weird atmosphere.

I picked a piece of toast apart with my fingers, not eating it.

"Quidditch trials are later this week – you trying out?" Sisca asked, flattening oats on the back of her spoon.

If I was honest, I hadn't even thought about it. "James is Captain, right?" She nodded and I grimaced. "Yeah…no."

"You would make a good Keeper…"

"James."

"Yeah but…"

"James."

She opened her mouth again, but I cut across before she could talk.

"Don't make me say it again. Why, are you?"

She rolled her eyes, but resumed eating her porridge. "Nah. I was on the team in fourth year…but I reckon that there are better beaters than me. I'm too small."

"Height doesn't affect Quidditch, darling." I laughed, for the first time forgetting about the Marauding fools.

"You would know!" she responded snarkily and I nodded.

"Yup." Height jibes were acceptable, as long as James and company didn't deliver them. They sort of had a point.

"But seriously," she continued. "There are boys who can hit a ball twice as far as me!"

I grimaced. It was hard to correct someone you knew was right. "I reckon that Mclaggen'll try for Keeper." I smiled, eager to get away from the subject of Sisca's beating skills. "Even though his head is so thick that it'll be all he can do to recognise the quaffle from the snitch."

Ferdinand It-doesn't-matter-my-brother-is-famous-I'll-just-sit-back-here-and-watch-the-world-go-by Mclaggen. Technically nobody called him that, but I personally thought that that particular nickname couldn't be more appropriate. Albeit quite hard to say.

I looked at my new "NEWT" timetable. Care of Magical Creatures, with Professor Kettleburn. Most people had dropped out of this particular class, with me and perhaps two others remaining. Some were scared of Kettleburn, who was currently on his 56th period of probation, and only had one and a half arms, and one leg. Most, however, just believed it to be a subject of very little interest, or usefulness. Those people were idiots. Or at least not clever enough to realize that there were so many other useful jobs outside of the Ministry.

I stood up, wincing as my toes touched the ground again, and pressed the comb into Sisca's hand. I grimaced at her, and she smiled back; before turning to Lily. This was the extent of our friendship. I was a second choice. That was me.

[Chapter 2] Verity Blishwick

You would have thought that the Ravenclaw house would have been the least prone to idle gossip. After all, when you put us up against the melodramatic Gryffindors and those conniving Slytherins, how interested could we really be in the rest of the schools' shenanigans?

But, oh the contrary.

The only thing we loved more than decaffeinated tea and a nice pop-quiz was a good, old-fashioned ego-boost.

So, naturally, when little Sarah Crosby spotted Kora 'I'm-not-a-tomboy' Tomboy Maver's shoes strung from the inner-workings of the clock tower she couldn't wait to announce that we were about to be privy to dinner and a show. And when that same Kora marched in; hair dishevelled, face furious and—you guessed it—barefoot, Sarah could do nothing but take a victory sip of pumpkin juice and let us marvel how she could have possibly deduced that from a pair of astray converse.

"But how did you know they were hers?" asked an awed Todd Lightfoot, one of only five, new first years. It seems that less and less make the cut each year.

"Her name was written on the soles…duh!" Sarah, with the flick of her hair, got up and marched down to the end to join the rest of the third years.

"The third years, they really think they're all that. Don't they?" Lysandra picked through her magazine, Brews unBottled; decoding confusing cordials, circling various items with a marker. Her demolished breakfast lay in front of her. Only the first years were still eating. They hadn't yet shaken off their 'Everything-is-so-new-so-I've-got-to-take-it-in-as-quickly-as-possible-itis'. Todd, who looked positively ill, was still trying to work his way through the entire range of food. I gave him one more waffle until he actually threw up.

"Just because they can go to Hogsmeade now they think they're the bees' knees. Speaking of which," I said pointing to one of the items on her catalogue page, "Bees' knees are a potion ingredient?"

"Yeah," she said, drawing a thick line round the black and yellow bottle, "How they actually collect them I don't know. Bees do have very small legs." She noted. I couldn't help but agree. "They're used in confidence potions."

"Confidence potions, aren't they a bit redundant? Surely three shots of firewhisky would do the same job?"

"No hangover." Lysandra pointed out.

"Fair enough."

"Shut it, you lot! I've got an announcement." Mr no-crap Carden growled in his Scottish burr from the head of the table, interrupting the buzz of conversation, loud enough that even the third-years quietened.

Mr Carden was, by far, my favourite teacher. He was also the last person you'd expect to be heading Ravenclaw house. Instead of the studious, quiet book-worm he was an obnoxious, fat man with an abnormal amount of different coloured tartan bow-ties. But if you got a question right in class he threw you a Liquorice Snap, but, then again, he did the same if you answered wrong. I suppose it depended on your catching skills whether that was a reward or punishment.

"Timetables."

With an abrupt wand movement hundreds of white slips shot out from behind him and towards their recipient. A flurry of hands flailed in the air as people tried to stop their schedules from speeding off in the wrong direction. I, among others, wasn't so lucky. Mine stopped right infront of my face then dropped into my finished breakfast. I fished the soggy paper delicately, holding it at the corner, out of my bowl of milk.

"Muggle Studies." I announced to Lysandra, who was holding her own, perfectly clean timetable. "You?"

"Magical Creatures with Kettleburn, so I really can't be late."

"Kay, I guess I'll see you later then."

We both gathered our things in silence and got up from the table to leave the great hall. Once out of the great hall Lysandra said bye cheerfully and pulled her hood up as she headed out into the grounds—the air was already growing colder and moisture clung to the grass.

I shivered away from the draft of icy and quickly made my way up the staircase to the first floor.

**Disclaimer: Much as I and JellyBeanOmelette wish that we had suddenly morphed into JK, we remain the humdrum schoolgirls that we are.**


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